Valentine's Day
by serennog
Summary: One-Shot. Frankly, Warren couldn't understand the hype. Warren/FreezeGirl hintage, Warren/OC.


**VALENTINE'S DAY**

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_A Sky High One-Shot_

_by_

_serennog_

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Summary: Frankly, Warren couldn't understand the hype. Warren/FreezeGirl, Warren/OC.

Disclaimer: I own nothing save the characters you don't recognise.

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Every Valentine's Day the _Paper Lantern_ would be full to the brim with loved-up couples of all ages – and this year was no exception.

'_Well,'_ Warren disdainfully mused, barely dodging a pair of college girls who'd abruptly sprung from their seats, laughingly excusing themselves from their respective dates under the pretence of "powdering their noses", _'at least the tips are better'_. It seemed that most men were so distracted by their other-half that they'd unknowingly dig out a couple dollars more than owed. Either that, or feeling particularly generous thanks to cupid (if the date went off without a hitch).

But despite the extra cash, Warren far preferred the relative quiet of every other day on the calendar. Besides, he couldn't for the life of him understand the hype affiliated with the holiday. So he could appreciated the chance to sweeten a girl into bed, but figured romance should be applied every damned day or not at all (a guy who splashed out only once a year surely didn't deserve the girl). Not to say he was particularly sentimental – but small, regular gestures of undying love sure went a long way. Or his own girl enjoyed them, at least. So much so in fact that she'd easily shrugged off his apology regarding work on Valentine's evening. "_I know you'll make it up to me_," was all she'd said on parting earlier that day, and sealed the statement with a searing kiss.

"Chicken chow mein?" Warren stood over a window booth which held a thirty-something couple kitted out in business suits – most likely having come straight from work – gazing lovingly into each others' eyes. And so intently that neither acknowledged Warren's presence. He heaved an internal sigh before pointedly clearing his throat. The woman startled, considerate enough to offer him an apology and an appropriately sheepish look as she accepted the proffered dish, indicating her companion for the chop suey. Job done, Warren wove his way back to the kitchen, almost crashing headlong into Yvonne as she struggled through the double doors while juggling a ridiculous amount of platters.

"Madam Chen'll kill you," Warren hissed, snatching a couple of dishes before his colleague could protest. "The rule's three platters or less."

"Well, Mister Uptight – it may have escaped your notice, but we're understaffed and busy beyond belief," retorted Yvonne, hazel eyes narrowed and nostrils flared with annoyance. "Besides – my balance is impeccable." Having said so, she very nearly dropped one of her plates. Warren stifled a snort.

"Which table?"

"Twelve," was the grudging reply. When they'd tended to the group at said table, both returned to the kitchen and stood off to the side for a short break, Warren leaning against the cool tiled wall while watching Ernie toss the flaming contents of a wok, and Yvonne sat on an overturned bucket, examining black-varnished nails.

"So. Your chick pissed at not having you to herself tonight?"

Warren blinked, gazing down at the crown of Yvonne's mousy-brown head. There was a scalding remark on the tip of his tongue – as though his personal life was any of her damned business, anyway. "No," he said instead.

"Huh." She was still inspecting her fingernails, and Warren couldn't help but detect some suppressed emotion in that one casual response.

"Roast duck and pancakes for table nine!" Yvonne took the order before Warren could reference her tone, and barely saw – let alone spoke – to her prior to closing. In fact, it wasn't until he was heading home that he spotted the girl on the sidewalk, barely visible in twilight. He pulled up his Scirocco and rolled down the passenger-side window.

"Yvonne?"

She jumped at the address. "Warren?" He thought he caught a hand briefly brush at her cheeks, but chose to ignore it.

"Dave not picking you up?"

Her face turned briefly away, then she shook her head and shifted her satchel somewhat uncomfortably. "No."

"Well, you shouldn't be wandering the streets at night." Warren leaned over and opened the passenger door. For a long moment, Yvonne made no move to join him, and her expression was frustratingly concealed by shadow – but with the tiniest uplift of the shoulders which he took to be a sigh, she finally got into the car. When the silence dragged on, increasingly oppressive, Warren reached out to switch on the radio, surprised when Yvonne jerked to turn it off as the opening verse of Linkin Park's _Valentine's Day_ flowed sorrowfully from the speakers. Through his peripheral vision, he could see her staring at the lit road ahead, face stony.

"We broke up."

Warren regarded her a second while trying not to appear too shocked (the two had practically been joined at the hip for going on a year, after all), raking his brain for a suitable response. "I'm sorry?" He winced when it came out as a question. Yvonne sniffed, averting her gaze to the side window.

"Dumped on Valentine's Day. You can't get more romantic than that." Her laugh was short and bitter.

Warren's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Well – he's a jerk." He vaguely saw Yvonne's head whirl to look at him, and covered his sudden case of compassion with a mellow shrug. "Who dumps a girl on Valentine's Day?" He felt her eyes on him for a spell, and fought not to squirm under her scrutiny. Eventually, her gaze fell back on the road.

"David Banks, apparently." There was a hint of humour in her voice.

"His loss."

Yvonne outwardly laughed – a genuine sound that inexplicably lifted Warren's heart. "Why, Mister Uptight. I do believe that was a compliment."

"You wish," he returned with a smirk.

They were quiet a moment. And this time the silence was almost pleasant.

It was with some difficulty that Yvonne spoke again – and on commenting, Warren realised it had nothing to do with a reluctance to break their companionable silence.

"It…" A sigh. "…It was my fault, really. I mean…" She shuffled in her seat. "…Dragging out the relationship like that when…"

He'd pulled up in front of her house and looked to her with brows raised in query when she'd halted her awkward speech once more. Something stirred in him when he noted the flush in her cheeks, revealed by the distant porch light. He'd never really noticed how pretty the hard-as-nails waitress was – seeming almost angelic with her heart-shaped face faintly illuminated. He quickly looked away, both disgusted and confused by his train of thoughts.

He heard her slow exhale, vaguely felt it caress the skin of his neck. "…When," she quietly continued, "I had feelings for someone else…" The only sign of his acknowledgment was the creak of his tightening grip on the wheel. Their initial discomfort returned full force.

"But that's another story for another day!" Yvonne hurriedly covered with forced cheer. "And I genuinely hope your Valentine's Day ends on a positive note – unlike mine." A self-depreciating smile and she was gone.

And before Warren knew what he was doing, he'd dashed from the driver's seat and grabbed her as she ascended the porch steps. The subsequent kiss took them both by surprise…

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One thing Warren Peace could say with a certain amount of surety regarding Valentine's Day was that it made fools of the most civilised of men. But he still didn't get the hype.

END.


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